Dalton answers, but I don’t catch it. Instead, I’ve caught something else—a flicker of movement behind the truck. I don’t even have time to wonder what I’m seeing before the woman’s partner swings around the rear bumper. Dalton wheels, but too late. A fist slams into Dalton’s jaw.
Dalton reels, and I’m running, crashing through the trees. No one even hears me. The guy has grabbed Dalton by the collar and yanked him upright. Dalton stiffens, and I know something’s being pressed into his back. I skid to a halt. I don’t think I breathe until I see the knife in the man’s hand, and I exhale.
Yes, a knife is dangerous, but it’s not a gun.
I still stay where I am, breathing hard, watching and resisting the urge to break through the last few meters of forest between us. Startle them, and that blade will slam into Dalton’s back.
“My wallet is in the truck,” Dalton says, his voice calm. “It’s in the console. There’s five hundred bucks in it.”
“We’re looking for a bigger payoff than that,” the man says. “We want the money we were promised.”
From my angle, I see the woman’s mouth set. She doesn’t appreciate her partner jumping in. Before she can speak, Dalton’s face screws up and he says, “Promised? From me? You’ve got the wrong guy if you think—”
“You’re the pilot of that Super Cub that comes in from the bush every couple of months,” the man says. “Don’t pretend you’re not. We—”
The woman cuts him off. “Last Thursday, my partner here flew our client out after you. That client hasn’t been heard from since.”
“And he owes us money,” the man adds.
The woman’s jaw flexes, and she shoots her partner a look, telling him to shut up.
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” Dalton says.
“You tell us,” the man says.
“You do realize I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, right?” Dalton says.
Dalton keeps talking, but all I see is the man’s arm draw back, knife clenched. Then it slams toward Dalton’s shoulder.
“Eric!” I shout.
The knife hits, but Dalton is already in motion, spinning away from the blade. Blood drops fly as I run.
Dalton’s fist hits the man’s arm. The knife goes flying. Dalton hits him again, this time in the jaw. The man sails off his feet. Then the woman is on Dalton. She grabs the back of his shirt, battering at him. He turns, and she falls back, and he hits her. She comes at him again, and he punches. She’s a good six inches shorter than him, and the blow strikes the side of her head. She flies into the back of the truck, her head cracking against it. Then she slides to the ground.
The man has recovered. He runs for the knife, but I’m already there. I put my foot on it. He looks like he’s ready to tackle me, but Dalton is barreling toward him, and the man changes his mind. He veers to the side and runs. Dalton starts after him, but he turns too fast and slips on the dirt. By the time he finds his footing, the guy has too much of a head start.
I grab the knife and run to the unconscious woman to get her keys. “He’s got a pickup around the corner. That’s where he’s going. I need her keys…” Her pockets are empty. “Damn it. Where—?”
Dalton slaps keys into my hand. I don’t take time to wonder how he got them. I’m on my feet and running for her SUV. Then he calls, “They aren’t for that. They’re for this.”
He points to the truck’s tailgate. Inside, I see a dirt bike.
“Where did that—?” I begin.
“You can still ride, right?”
I don’t answer. I race over and open the tailgate.
THIRTY-SIX
It’s been years since I rode a dirt bike, but it’s the same type as I remember, and motor memory guides me. Make sure the bike is in neutral. Hold the front brake and clutch. Kick-start the bike. Stay upright. That last part is really important, especially at the speeds I travel.
The guy hasn’t reached the corner yet. He hears the whine of the dirt bike, and when he glances over his shoulder, the look he gives is one I will treasure for days to come. It’s an unadulterated What the hell? followed by a wide-eyed Oh, shit!
He runs faster, as if that will help. I zoom up behind him, and he glances back, and that earlier look is magnified tenfold. He dives to the side. I veer past him.
I resist the urge to look back at his expression as I continue around the corner. I’m sure he hesitates, wondering if he’s made a mistake, and the woman on the bike was just some other random chick zipping past on a jaunt.